


The Bell Tolls

by Sidara



Series: Standing In The Gallows [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Choking, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Power Dynamics, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 13:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidara/pseuds/Sidara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HYDRA’s best weapon needs to be handled with a particular kind of care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bell Tolls

**Author's Note:**

> I am a terrible, terrible person for writing this and going straight to hell where a table with bottle service awaits me.
> 
> PLEASE heed the warnings and see the end notes for a better idea of what you are in for. If I have missed any warnings, let me know so that I can tag for them. I tried to be as descriptive as possible.
> 
> Thanks needs to be given to [nightwalker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker) for beta-ing a fic with a pairing and themes she doesn’t care for, despite the amount of times I texted her about how much worse I could make it. I had a motto to stick to, that is my only excuse.
> 
> People have asked about a sequel to [Are You A Stranger Without Even A Name](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3201632). This is not a true sequel. Consider it one of the many missing scenes Bucky lived through in AYASWEAN. I know I keep saying I won’t write a recovery fic (I am excellent at the hurt, not so skilled at the comfort), but my brain is percolating on maybe someday writing something for a sequel. I won’t promise I will, as my real life job has been ridiculously, stupidly stressful for over a year now and it doesn’t look like it will end any time soon. If or when I ever do write a possible sequel, this fic would build a tiny platform for that fic for, uh, reasons.
> 
> Terrible, oh god WHY, reasons.

_November 9, 1989_

_“Private travel outside the country can now be applied for without prerequisite, conditions or family relationships. Permits will be issued on short notice.”_  
_“Herr Schabowski, when does this go into effect?”_  
_“As far as I know, effective immediately, without delay.”_

 

The house in an upscale neighborhood in East Berlin was nondescript and shuttered against the world. No guards patrolled the property and no entourage came out to meet him. The door was unlocked in anticipation of his visit, so Secretary of Defense Alexander Pierce let himself inside. 

“Here,” a rough, accented voice called out in English from the dimly lit front room.

Pierce headed for the voice and the man it belonged to. Hard-lined face limned in the colorful glow of television, General Aleksander Lukin did not look away from the newscast, attention rigidly held by scenes of celebration. Lukin still wore his overcoat, one which bore no military medals or government accolades Pierce’s file knew he had earned.

Pierce silently took in the tableau before approaching the small bar tucked against the side wall. It seemed out of place amongst all the other furniture in the room, a black modern set-up while the rest of the decor could easily be dated to the 1960s. He poured a shot of vodka for Lukin and a glass of scotch for himself. He carried both over to the conversation set up of the furniture, setting the shot glass on the side table near the couch with a quiet clink. Lukin barely glanced at the offering.

“Come to gloat?” Lukin asked flatly, never looking away from the television.

Pierce sat down on the only other chair in the room, a leather monstrosity that felt showroom new. The leather creaked with every shift of his body as Pierce got comfortable, resting his elbows on his knees and swirling the scotch in his glass.

“Gloating is a waste of my time,” Pierce said after a moment. “The job is still unfinished. Celebrating is premature.”

Lukin picked up the shot glass and gestured at the television where sledgehammers wielded by everyday citizens were tearing down a wall. “Perhaps you would like to reassess the battlefield.”

“That won’t be necessary. We did what needed to be done.”

Lukin smiled thinly, anger twisting his mouth. “For your capitalist country, _да_. The Kremlin turned its back on the Soviet Union.”

“HYDRA has needs.”

Lukin scoffed at that, downing his shot of vodka in one swallow. “ _You_ have needs. Do not lie to yourself, Pierce. That is one lesson which Karpov taught me I never forgot. You would do well to do the same.”

Pierce didn’t respond, merely sipped at his scotch. The taste was cheap and bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t show his disgust. Judging by Lukin’s smirk, he didn’t have to. The Russian had handled the details of this meeting right down to the last decoration hanging on the wall. Pierce had allowed Lukin control of the location as a gesture of goodwill and to help soften the blow of political defeat. The scotch was meant as an insult, one Pierce would not comment on. The delicate dance of diplomacy, even in the shadows, had a rhythm Pierce wasn’t interested in breaking up just yet.

“Reunification is a mistake,” Lukin said as he pushed himself to his feet. He headed for the bar, pouring himself another shot of vodka with steady, callused hands. Time had grayed his hair, aged his face, but his military bearing would never leave him. “The fallout will be messy and take years to address.”

“HYDRA is counting on it.” Pierce smiled evenly at Lukin when the other man turned to glare at him. “The oncoming instability will provide us with much needed cover. The Cold War was no longer a viable option.”

What went unsaid was the understanding that the Soviet Union was no longer considered an acceptable enemy to use as a foil against the world, with its isolated people and stagnant economy fading away behind an Iron Curtain, a country stumbling to catch up to the so called free world. HYDRA had needed to divest itself of the arms that no longer proved to be useful and this was the result. But men of power never went quietly, and Pierce had enough respect for the man in front of him to come tonight in person.

“A mistake,” Lukin repeated bitterly, carrying his drink back with him to the couch.

“If the head of the KGB was against this course of action, you would be burying more bodies than you are tonight aside from the ones that got in our way.”

“You speak of children who have no loyalty to the Red Room and follow a Kremlin that has no spine.”

Pierce’s words came out measured and calm. “Those who matter are loyal to HYDRA.”

“You know nothing of loyalty.”

Pierce shrugged and took another sip of the terrible scotch. “I know enough.”

Lukin studied him in the glow of the television, seeing the shadow of someone else in Pierce’s face from long ago. Lukin was not ignorant of the weapon Pierce had inherited as the latest man to head up HYDRA. But for all the many hands which had held its leash over the decades, none knew the risks of using it better than Lukin.

“You think because you bear a passing likeness to America’s much revered and lost Captain that it is loyal to you?” Lukin shook his head and downed his shot of vodka just as quickly as the first. “ _I_ made that loyalty. Not you Americans.”

“Do you doubt your work?” Pierce asked mildly, setting aside his glass.

Lukin rolled the empty shot glass between his fingers before turning it upside down on the side table. He looked over at Pierce with hard, narrowed eyes. “I never doubt my work. I doubt the lack of care HYDRA has administered to my best weapon ever since it left my hands. A broken weapon is a useless weapon. Zola was not the genius he thought he was. We of the Red Room understood its limits.”

“And HYDRA understands its uses.”

Silence fell between the two men, broken only by the low hum of the German broadcast televising history in the making. Mere hours since the announcement of free passage and already people were clawing at a symbol of communism, seeking to tear it down.

“You brought it here,” Lukin said after a lengthy silence.

“Krenz was vastly more amenable to our suggestion after we brought it in,” Pierce replied easily enough. “Gorbachev has been losing his grip on the Eastern Bloc for years. The KGB is less of a threat than what we had to offer to the head of the SED. Krenz understood what he risked losing if he didn’t agree. It was always going to end this way. You had to know that.”

Lukin pressed his lips into a thin line, staring not at Pierce, but out the nearest window and the darkness that hid so many threats. “And what is it you have come to offer me tonight? Death? Money? Retirement in the Middle East?”

“You think so little of me, Lukin. HYDRA is aware of what you have done for it over the years. We still have need of your continued contributions. You and what you bred in the KGB are not being shelved. We simply need you to go to ground for a time. Appear to close up shop while your government changes faces. The Kremlin will be looking for scapegoats and HYDRA would rather you go unnoticed and unremarked upon.”

Lukin’s lip curled at the request, but he was not stupid enough to argue against it. He knew, better than most of his countrymen, what tonight in East Berlin meant for the future. There was no coming back from this as they once were. The end of an era was approaching, buoyed by a stupidly idealistic country promising free market, free thought, a free society that Lukin intrinsically _loathed_. But beneath that glossy exterior was the promise of something better, something more in line with what he was being forced to leave by the wayside. Something only HYDRA could provide.

Sometimes democracy needed to rise in order to be brought down again with the right tools, the right weapon, so that something stronger could be built from the rubble.

All Lukin had to do was wait.

“You will not find me in Moscow after this,” Lukin said. He stood in a smooth motion, staring down at Pierce and the absence of triumph in the American’s blue eyes.

“We’ll find you,” Pierce promised.

“I’m sure you will try. _До свидания._ ”

Lukin left the house without bothering to turn off the lights. Pierce did the job for him, wiping away any clues to their presence in the place before leaving the premises. Outside in the darkness, a figure stepped free of the shadows, Barrett M82 cradled in its flesh and metal hands. Pierce snapped his fingers at the Asset as he walked towards the non-descript limousine pulling up on the street in front of the house.

The driver, a newly minted Green Beret on secondment with SHIELD for clandestine missions, a man whom HYDRA had its eye on, got out of the limo and came around to open the door for Pierce. “Where to, Mr. Secretary?”

“Back to Schönefeld, Rumlow. We’re done here for tonight,” Pierce said.

Rumlow nodded sharply. “Sir.”

He closed the door behind Pierce and the Asset, returning to the driver’s seat. The limo pulled forward smoothly and Pierce pressed the button that would raise the privacy screen between the front of the vehicle and the back. Rumlow disappeared behind it, focused on doing his job. Pierce picked up the pair of leather gloves he’d left beside a bottle of Macallan 30-year-old scotch and pulled them on.

“Put the rifle away,” Pierce ordered as he undid his tie.

The Asset obeyed in silence, methodically taking apart its weapon and slotting the pieces into the carrying case before setting it aside. The limo could have comfortably seated six people in its plush interior; more than enough space for what Pierce had planned. 

“Come here.”

He pointed at the floor of the limo as he spoke, the Asset easily picking up on the silent order and obeying immediately. The Asset slid off the seat and crawled across the floor of the limo until it came to a stop between Pierce’s knees, hands resting on its thighs, gaze never quite meeting Pierce’s eyes above the mask it wore. 

Pierce grabbed the Asset’s chin, moving its head from side to side, giving him easier access to the catches that locked the mask in place. He pried the rigid mask off and tossed it on the nearest seat. The black camo face paint smeared around its blue eyes made them stand out with startling intensity. Pierce used his free hand to trace the Asset’s mouth, studying a face lost to history except to the select few tasked with handling it.

No one handled it better than Pierce.

He slid his thumb between the Asset’s mouth, dry lips parting easily around the intrusion. Its eyes narrowed ever so slightly, that tiny shred of awareness Pierce always looked for flaring up. He’d seen it when they landed in West Berlin hours ago. Whether it was the language or the city or some other detail in the world around them, the Asset was slightly more mentally _present_ than it usually was while in the field. It was a documented problem Pierce had no trouble fixing.

Pierce lazily undid his belt, pulling his half-hard cock free of his underwear. The drive to the airport would take an hour or longer through side streets made more crowded than usual by a giddy populous high on dreams of freedom. If they had a tail, Rumlow would get rid of it. For the moment, Pierce had a need he required be sated.

Gripping the Asset’s long tangled hair, Pierce drew it forward. “Open.”

The Asset opened its mouth, sliding Pierce’s cock down its throat without hesitation. It didn’t stop even when it choked, nose buried in curly blond pubes, swallowing hard against the rapidly thickening cock. Pierce let his head fall back, a low groan escaping his lips as he stroked his gloved hand over the Asset’s bowed head, relishing the wet heat.

“Suck.”

The Asset obeyed.

It never remembered these instances where Pierce took what he wanted, but it always knew what to do without needing to be taught. Pierce doubted its skill in that area came from Lukin and the Red Room’s teachings. The Soviet Union decried homosexuality, but it never decried power, and to Pierce, that was all this was about. Control of HYDRA’s greatest weapon brought about by way of Pierce’s skillful hands, results unparalleled compared to everyone else who had ever used it to change the world.

Pierce rested his hands on his thighs, letting the gloved fingertips of one hand brush against the Asset’s unmasked face as it sucked him off with focused intent. Eyes half-lidded, Pierce lifted his hips every now and then, tightly gripping the Asset’s hair at the back of its head to hold it still, mouth wrapped wide and wet and red around his cock while he lazily fucked its face.

The limo kept moving. Eventually, Pierce pulled the Asset off, his cock sliding free of its mouth with an obscenely wet _pop_. Pierce pulled its head back at a sharp angle, its mouth parted as it panted for air Pierce had barely let it have. It blinked rapidly but didn’t speak, eyes wet and tearing at the corners. Its lips were puffy and bruised from friction, a hint of red at the corners where delicate skin had broken.

Pierce smiled, quirking his mouth like he’d seen in sepia toned pictures, mirroring the expression of another man. The Asset stopped heaving for air, the tension Pierce had sensed in its body lessening once its eyes flickered across his face. Pierce let go of its hair and ran his gloved thumb over its puffy bottom lip.

“Lie back.”

The Asset obeyed immediately, moving away from Pierce with jerky motions, gaze hazy and indistinct. Its back hit the floor of the limo, legs parting as Pierce knelt between them. The Asset was still in its field uniform, heavy Kevlar and durable fatigues, carrying a multitude of weapons Pierce didn’t bother to divest it of. Pierce merely undid its belt, yanking its pants and underwear down around its thighs in a perfunctory manner.

Its hands twitched, half reaching for him, eyes clouded with some impossible memory that should have long since been burned away by countless mind wipes.

Pierce leaned forward and grabbed its hands, slamming them to the floor of the limo above its head. The small plates in the fingers of its left hand recalibrated as it curled them into a fist. The Asset shuddered beneath him, mouth pressing into a tight line, expression sharpening to a dangerous point. Pierce stroked the back of one gloved hand down its face, pitching his voice to a cadence that existed only in film reels gathering dust in a handful of museums.

“Don’t move.”

It held still, arms bent at sharp angles around its head, hands pressed flat to the floor when Pierce let it go. It panted for breath, eyes flickering rapidly from Pierce’s mouth to just shy of his eyes, lips still swollen from long minutes of cock sucking.

Pierce kept smiling a smile that wasn’t his as he pressed the Asset’s legs up nearly to its shoulders, the position restricted some by the pants twisted around its thighs. Pierce gripped his cock, still wet from the Asset’s saliva and his own precum, and guided it into the Asset’s hole without pause. The Asset jerked slightly from the intrusion but didn’t resist as Pierce forced his way inside the tight heat presented to him. Every clenching inch Pierce took for his own pleasure made his cock throb delightfully, the feel of it drawing a heavy groan from him even as the unyielding motion pulled a thin whine from between the Asset’s clenched teeth.

Pierce pressed a hand against one of the Asset’s thighs, holding it in place as he finally bottomed out. Pierce let out a low breath, relishing the tight heat clutching at him. He looked down at where his cock disappeared into the hole and rubbed a gloved fingertip against the puckered, angry red skin stretched around his thick cock, smearing the trickle of blood leaking out. He gathered up what he could of the wetness and pressed his gloved finger against the edge of the hole, pushing in. The extra pressure against his cock made the ache in his lower back sharpen, balls getting heavier.

The Asset’s breathing intensified as Pierce rubbed what wetness he could around what he could reach of his cock before pulling his finger free. He reached between the Asset’s bent legs and tapped the dirtied bit of leather against its clenched teeth.

“Open.”

It parted his teeth instantly, taking the glove-lined digit into its mouth, leather body-warm. It licked his glove clean and would have kept at it if Pierce didn’t remove his fingers from its mouth. Saliva glistened on its chin as it licked its lips, panting for breath. Pierce steadied himself against it and pulled out until just the head of his cock remained inside, enjoying the tight feel against the most sensitive part of his body for a few seconds. Then he slammed back into the burning heat of the weapon beneath him, intent on enjoying everything tonight had given him.

Pierce held it down with a sure, firm grip, his own legs spread wide to help brace himself against the moving limo as he fucked the Asset with hard, punishing strokes, while it lay there and _took_ it with a wide-eyed look on its face, mouth parted, hands never leaving the spot on the floor where Pierce had put them.

No matter what Lukin thought, Pierce understood the loyalty the Red Room had built in the Asset. The core of it stemmed not just from their harsh teachings but from something deeper, almost primal, something that left the Asset looking at Pierce like it knew him when it shouldn’t remember anything except what they wanted it to.

Pierce leaned his not insignificant weight against the Asset’s bent legs, hands digging bruises into pale skin where he gripped its hips, holding it at a better, deeper angle to satisfy himself. Its body had fully opened up now, the way hot and newly slick. The sound of his hips slapping against the Asset’s tautly curved ass was partially drowned out by the rumble of the limo’s engine.

The Asset’s breathing picked up, getting thin and frantic, chest heaving. Its cock, once limp against its stomach, now curved hot and heavy between its legs, forced into hardness by the physical stimuli. Pierce shoved himself closer, deeper, chasing the ache at the bottom of his spine that always tasted like victory in his mouth.

The Asset’s ragged breathing suddenly became strangled, its mouth dropping open on a name as he came on Pierce’s hard, unyielding cock.

“ _Steve_ ,” the Asset gasped out, eyes wild and wet, looking right through Pierce as thick strands of cum streaked over its combat vest.

Pierce leaned forward in a quick, smooth motion, wrapping one gloved hand around the Asset’s throat, squeezing his fingers hard enough to almost cut off its breath.

“I didn’t say the Asset could _speak_ ,” Pierce snarled.

The Asset choked against his grip, struggling to breathe even as its body shuddered through the aftereffects of the orgasm and the relentless, punishing fucking Pierce continued to give it as they were driven through the darkened streets of East Berlin.

When Pierce finally came, it was with a bitten off guttural groan, hips grinding hard against the hole that held him, cock twitching in blood-warm heat. Sweat slicked his chest beneath his dress shirt and suit jacket, the crease in his pants utterly destroyed now. The Asset twitched and shivered on his softening cock, throat spasming against Pierce’s fingers. Its face was red and blotchy and damp from tears, but its eyes—its eyes were losing that haziness.

And Pierce, always one to read a situation and know how to diffuse it to his advantage, leaned down between the Asset’s knees and kissed it, releasing its throat from his punishing grip. The Asset gasped for air against his mouth, Pierce stealing what little it had left in its lungs. He didn’t let up, sliding his tongue past the Asset’s teeth and kissing it in a way he could only guess at.

History had nothing to tell about how Steve Rogers loved, only how he fought and died.

Pierce could only hope to channel the ghost of a man long since lost to the annals of war in situations like this. He pulled away only when he felt its mouth go slack beneath his own. Pierce straightened up, watching as the Asset watched him with a distantly confused gaze that was all Pierce needed to see in order to know the status quo had returned. Pierce pulled his softened cock free of the Asset’s swollen hole, blood and cum covering the length from root to tip.

Pierce hauled himself back onto his seat with a satisfied groan. The Asset never moved from the position he’d placed it in, following his order to the letter.

“Come here,” Pierce said, voice rough, sounding nothing like he needed it to, though it didn’t matter for the moment. The threat which had suddenly appeared was gone now, lost to the emptiness of the Asset’s burned out mind and Pierce’s deft hand at survival.

The Asset moved, never showing any hint of discomfort or pain as it crawled its way back between Pierce’s legs. Pierce touched its cheek, rubbing at the black camo face paint now smeared a bit from tears and sweat.

“Clean me up.”

The Asset bent its head, mouthing at Pierce’s skin. With heavy licks, it cleaned him of the cum and blood sticking to his body until nothing remained. Pierce stroked its hair all the while, keeping the fuzziness at the edge of the Asset’s eyes for as long as possible. When nothing remained of the mess, Pierce gripped its hair and moved its head back to the tip of his cock. The Asset wrapped its lips around the head and sucked without needing to be told. Pierce grimaced slightly at the oversensitivity of the touch. Still, he guided the Asset forward with a firm hand, its warm mouth swallowing him down once again.

Pierce kept it there for long minutes, the Asset gently suckling his cock while he reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass to erase the lingering taint in his mouth of what Lukin had left for him. Pierce took a sip and savored the taste and feel of well made things, letting his head fall back against the seat with a sigh. He was older than he used to be, his second wind taking longer to come upon him. Glancing at his Rolex, Pierce calculated he still had time to work and Rumlow hadn’t once called through the speaker with a problem about their exit strategy.

Pierce stroked his hand over the Asset’s head, enjoying the wet heat his cock was expanding into. He finished his glass in slow sips before pouring himself a second one, making it a double. He pushed and pulled the Asset’s mouth up and down the length of his cock at whim, listening to how it gasped for air every time he let it breathe. It never fought him when he coaxed its mouth back onto his cock, the concept of rebellion long since destroyed from its thoughts. Pierce fed it his cock again and again, enjoying each slide down its throat.

Pierce took one last sip before setting the glass aside for the moment. He used one hand to guide the Asset forward until its nose was once again buried against his groin. He slid his other hand down its face to cradle its jaw before twisting his wrist so he could press his palm against its throat and feel the outline of his cock there. Pierce rubbed himself through its throat with hard fingers, groaning softly as the extra pressure made his cock, trapped in tight heat, twitch heavily.

He gripped the Asset’s hair again and pulled its mouth almost completely off his cock, resting the tip against its swollen bottom lip. A drop of precum filled the slit there and Pierce tilted its head downwards a fraction of an inch, watching as it automatically flicked out its tongue to lap up the fluid. Pierce smiled, the same practiced curve of the mouth he’d been using since entering the limo, and pushed the Asset’s head down again. He watched its mouth stretch wide around his cock, feeling its throat contract around his length, swallow after swallow. Pierce rolled his hips up into that slick wetness, grinding against its face.

Its eyes were still wet, lashes spiked together from tears that came from its effort to follow every last one of Pierce’s orders. Pierce guided it as he always did, with firm voice and gloved hands alike, fucking up into its mouth with increasingly demanding motions. He gripped its hair in tight fingers and held it still, letting it choke on his cock as he face-fucked it with a smile that never went away. From time to time it would glance up at him, never quite meeting Pierce’s eyes. Pierce would always brush his hand over its head in those moments, the ghost of another man’s smile on his face as it cradled his cock in its mouth.

Pierce could feel his second orgasm of the night crawling up his spine, quicker now that he’d already spent himself once. He fucked its mouth right up to the edge of his climax before pulling it off him, watching as it heaved for air and shook from its exertion. Its face was red and shiny with sweat, chin covered in spit, a thick strand of saliva connecting its tongue to the head of Pierce’s cock. Pierce gripped his cock and stroked himself once, twice, before he fell over the edge again for the second time that night. Cum shot free of his cock in thick ropy strands, painting its face where he held it over his cock, getting in its mouth and catching on its swollen lips.

Breathing heavily, Pierce closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, all the months of pent up tension in his body finally draining away. Stress from the job was always difficult to deal with, but he had found various ways over the years to handle it. Opening his eyes, Pierce gripped the Asset under the hinges of its jaw and forced its head up. Pierce gathered up the cum dripping on its face with unhurried motions, feeding it every last drop until it licked his gloves clean with dutiful swipes of its tongue.

Pierce didn’t have to tell it to clean him up a second time.

The Asset licked up what was left of the mess on Pierce’s cock without pause until nothing remained. When it finished, Pierce nudged it backwards with his foot, revealing the small mess that had leaked out its hole onto the floor.

“Clean that up.”

The Asset maneuvered its body into position in the small space in order to obey, its undone uniform limiting its range of movement. Curled on its hands and knees, bruised hips angled upwards, it bent its head and started to lick the floor clean of the mess it had made. Pierce tucked his cock back into his underwear and did up his pants. He smoothed out what wrinkles he could in his trouser legs, glad that the dark navy wool of his suit would hide whatever evidence of his exertion had seeped through his dress shirt. He redid his tie, fingers doing up the Windsor knot with practiced ease, before reaching for his glass of scotch, all the while watching the Asset work.

After his third sip of truly excellent scotch, Pierce lifted one foot and nudged the Asset into a better position for him to easily reach it without having to exert himself. The Asset knelt on all fours in front of his legs, head bowed, long hair hiding its face. Its pants were tangled around its knees now, the gear Pierce hadn’t removed weighing the clothing down. Pierce stroked his gloved left hand over the curve of its bare ass, palm brushing against the already fading bruises he’d given it during his earlier fuck. Blood had dried in streaks down its thighs, but since none seemed to have dripped anywhere else, Pierce ignored the mess.

He took another sip of scotch, thinking about the problems waiting for him back in the States now that the current path had finally been laid down. Success only brought more complications in a more globally connected world these days. The side-effect of a job well done, he supposed. Pierce dipped his fingers in between the crack of its ass, absently sliding them through the mess of cum and blood which had not quite finished leaking out.

His cock twitched in his pants but did no more than that. Pierce wasn’t looking to get off again. He was merely looking to calm his mind and give his hands something to do as he organized his thoughts. Idle hands were the devil’s playground, as his wife was fond of saying.

It sucked in the faintest of breaths when Pierce slid all four fingers into its hole, skin tearing to make room even as new blood helped ease the way inside, but otherwise it made no sound at the intrusion. Pierce watched it tremble on all fours as he methodically pumped his fingers in and out of its hole. His sharp gaze caught every minute detail of the second orgasm creeping into its form even as he wondered if he needed to debrief at the White House first to keep his cover intact or focus on HYDRA’s next mission in the Persian Gulf. He curled his fingers against the clutching heat, knuckles brushing against the rim of its hole, the skin there so hot he could feel the heat through the leather glove.

Tremors ran through its arms, bowed head shaking ever so slightly with every quick breath of air it sucked into its lungs. Pierce took a long sip of his scotch, pressing his fingers against the bundle of nerves inside its hole just barely within reach at this angle. Its entire body shuddered against the hard pressure, the sound of its metal fingers scratching against the limo floor impossible to miss. It held position, kept its body where Pierce wanted it, while Pierce kept up the same methodical speed he’d started with, fingers slipping through warm blood.

The White House first, Pierce decided, as he took another sip of scotch, rolling the rich flavor around on his tongue. As he’d told Lukin tonight, one’s cover was so very important these days. He needed to show his face where it mattered to make people look the other way. Pierce tilted his glass a bit, eyeing the finger’s worth of amber liquid that remained as he shifted the angle of his hand, pressing in deeper, letting the tip of his thumb hook beneath its rim. Its hips jerked against the new pressure but it never moved away from Pierce’s touch. More blood squelched out from between his fingers as they moved, trickling over the back of his gloved hand. Pierce’s palm smeared the tacky red fluid across its ass with every inexorable motion of his hand.

Domestic politics had to come first at the moment if HYDRA’s plans for war were to make it out of DOD backrooms and into the world at large. The White House, then the Pentagon, and finally home. He hadn’t seen his family in weeks and was overdue for a visit. Best to get in time with them now before the next stage of HYDRA’s long range plans required his full attention. Pierce slid his thumb into the sucking heat up to the first knuckle before slipping it back out again when a twinge in his wrist made itself known. Pierce flexed his fingers, the edges of its torn hole fluttering around the half of his hand he’d forced inside it. He pressed hard on that bundle of nerves and didn’t let up, forcing the Asset to come with the feel of Pierce’s fingers on the trigger.

Pierce idly catalogued every last twitch that wracked its body as the orgasm rolled through it, listening for the punched out exhale of air that left its lungs on a high-note whine. Never once did it move. Never once did it speak, not after that earlier slip of the tongue. It merely accepted without protest whatever Pierce saw fit to give it.

“On to the next problem,” Pierce mused, swallowing down the last of his scotch. “The world won’t fix itself.”

Pierce withdrew his bloody fingers form its hole, frowning at the messy state of his leather glove. He slapped his hand against its blood spattered ass, squeezing the hot flesh there with strong fingers before finally pulling away.

“Clean up the mess.”

The Asset moved, sitting up in order to turn its head and take Pierce’s gloved fingers into its mouth one by one, licking him clean. Some of the blood got smeared on its face from its effort, but as Pierce’s glove was finally clean, he didn’t bother to dirty the leather up again. The Asset shifted on its knees and bent down to lap up the new mess on the floor. A streak of cum had splashed across the toe of Pierce’s right Oxford, a bit of white marring the black leather that it carefully licked clean.

When it finished its administrations, Pierce had it do up its pants and fix its uniform, the black of its fatigue pants capable of hiding the blood and what little semen remained leaking out of its hole. The evidence of its own orgasm on its combat vest from earlier in the ride was easily rubbed away.

The speaker crackled to life just then, Rumlow’s voice coming through nice and clear. “ETA ten minutes, Sir.”

“Understood,” Pierce said. “Were there any problems on the drive over?”

“Negative, Sir. A smooth ride all the way. I hope you enjoyed it.”

The Asset knelt between Pierce’s knees, eyes downcast, everything in place again except for one last thing. Pierce touched his gloved fingers under its chin, tilting its head up. Its gaze flickered to Pierce’s face, but not his eyes, and he smiled down at it in a familiar way.

“I enjoyed it immensely,” Pierce replied.

The line shut off with a soft crackle of static through the speaker. Pierce grabbed the previously discarded mask and snapped it back into place with sure fingers. Pierce stroked his hand through its hair one last time before taking off his gloves.

“The Asset did well tonight. Now keep watch.”

It got off its knees and retreated to the best vantage point the limo could give it to watch the road for any oncoming threats. The bruises around the Asset’s throat would be gone by the time they reached Schönefeld and the plane waiting to take them back to base in West Berlin. From there, they would take a long-haul flight back to Washington, D.C. and the never-ending dance of politics that awaited their arrival. In the end, Pierce’s off-the-books mission was a resounding success.

The Berlin Wall fell, the world rejoiced, and the Asset was put back on ice.

Pierce would use it again when he saw fit.

**Author's Note:**

> There is absolutely ZERO consent given in this fic despite Bucky’s actions within. Pierce uses his own likeness to Steve in order to control Bucky’s Winter Soldier tendencies so that he can use Bucky for sex as a “job well done” reward for Pierce’s actions in helping to enable the end of the Cold War. Bucky is very much a thing to be used by Pierce in this fic and is literally treated and referred to as an object within. No thought to Bucky’s comfort or well-being is ever considered by Pierce.


End file.
